Oh Those Resolutions!

Santa Fe Snow (2007), painting by Clark Hulings.

I’m not sure anyone makes New Year’s Resolutions now; once several studies showed most people didn’t keep them for more than a few days, what little energy there was in the idea seeped away. A dear friend of mine reinvented the ritual this year, writing a letter on paper trimmed with gold stars to send to his friends: “In this little corner of the world, I’ve had my ups and downs like most of us, but I’m still filled with hope and faith for a better world.” He added, “Here’s my year in brief—let me know about yours, too!”

I’m using his letter as a model to list a few of my important moments this past year, always with a slight sense of embarrassment; I could have done much more for other people. But I did some things in that realm, and more for myself, and both matter.

In the public realm, I was privileged to continue my support for many projects, principally by re-funding a program, now in its third years, for a music group here that initiated and supports their hiring of women orchestra conductors. As in so many other fields, music programs all over the country are now training gifted women conductors, but after graduating, they have difficulty finding jobs with orchestras, traditionally one of the most conservative of our arts groups. I’ve seen three of these women at work, startling and amazing, and look forward to more.

In my domestic life, I attended my sister-in-law’s burial and saw, for the first time in years, nieces and nephews and their spouses and adult children. Beside the new dug grave, I remembered the spirited young woman of sixty years ago who turned the early loss of her husband into an opportunity to expand and grow while raising her two children.

In the same realm, I undertook a trip to Denmark last summer with my younger son and his family and while finding the Scandinavians too reserved for my taste, enjoyed their extraordinary museum of the decorative arts in Stockholm and remembered how fresh and exciting those designs were when they burst into this country in the 1950’s.

My writing life, as always, provides me with the greatest pleasure, sense of accomplishment, and frustration. I found a charming new agent who has not been helpful so far; perhaps that will change. I finished responding to the copy editor’s queries and suggestions on the manuscript of my memoir, Little Brother to be published by Sarabande Books next spring, avoided writing, “To hell with that!” and saw the photographs to be included.

I dug out two old novels, one in now nearly unreadable ancient computer files. One, based on the life of the American poet, H.D., I completed years ago; after editing, it is ready to go. The other, based on the sculptor Auguste Rodin and his circle at the Hotel Biron in Paris in the early twentieth century, consists only of a compelling proposal and introduction. Probably that is as far as it will go.

Inspired by George Saunders’ anthology, A Swim in a Pond in the Rain, made up of his long-winded but immensely helpful and amusing notes on a handful of classic Russian short stories, I’m turning back to my first love and editing four or five new short stories, determined to send them out to the various literary magazine. They all hold competitions, and although in all these years, no story of mine has been selected, the fees I pay help sustain worthy work and at least my stories are read by one or two judges.

And I haven’t gotten sick with Covid or any of the variations, and my two grand -daughters who were stricken have quickly recovered.

So on with the mask and the social distancing—which also means no colds this winter—and goodbye to the big gatherings I never liked much anyway—and no complaining!

My love and best wishes to my faithful readers and to my gifted web designer, John Niernberger, without whom none of my posts would have seen the light of day.

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